


a pretty good gardener

by ashintuku



Category: Critical Role (Web Series), Critical Role (Wildemount Campaign)
Genre: Developing Friendships, Gen, Language of Flowers, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Friendship, Tea
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-06-18 16:21:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15489852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashintuku/pseuds/ashintuku
Summary: “...Does the family historyactuallymake a difference in taste?”“Nah,” here, Caduceus grinned a little wider, pulling two cups out of his bag and setting them down on the ground after a questioning look to Beau. She flapped a hand, but nodded, and he carefully lifted the kettle and poured them both out a cup. “If I could, though, I’d pick flowers that I thought suited them – andthatwould affect the flavour.”





	1. pride, constancy, protection and confidence

They were about a day off from what Beau was calling ‘the hills where shit went sideways’. 

The nights were getting colder, and longer, and the group of them had purchased a cart in Shady Creek Run to try and create some form of wall between their camp and the chilly winds. It was a covered cart, and for the moment the little tiefling girl and the half-orc man were curled up in the back, resting and recovering as they could. 

Caduceus crouched in the middle of the camp, holding his hands out to the fire to warm them up for a moment before he pulled out his little tripod and his kettle, setting both up over the fire and humming quietly. The others puttered around him, setting up last-minute touches and talking quietly amongst them; he heard hushed whispers: back-and-forth questions and answers that he was not privy to, likely because they were about him or they were about their fallen friend. 

He didn’t mind, either way. 

Pulling out one of the small satchels of tea he had left, he took a moment to inhale the sweet, yet slightly bitter fragrance of the tea; eyes closed as he remember which family he had plucked the petals from. 

Someone sitting in front of him shook him out of his thoughts, and he looked up to see the aggressive one, Beau, sitting there and staring at him. 

“That your dead people tea?” 

Caduceus smiled, looking back to his kettle to see some steam beginning to whistle out of the spout. He carefully dumped the contents of his satchel into the kettle, setting the lid back down and letting it steep. 

“Yeah,” he said after a moment, noticing that Beau was beginning to look impatient. It was a look she often wore on her face; he found it fascinating how in a battle she almost seemed serene, but put her in a peaceful scenario and she was twitching out of her skin. “Think that one was from the Amastacia family – they tended to pop out philosophers. Makes for an interesting flavour, I think – mellow, but a bit bitter.” 

“...Does the family history _actually_ make a difference in taste?” 

“Nah,” here, Caduceus grinned a little wider, pulling two cups out of his bag and setting them down on the ground after a questioning look to Beau. She flapped a hand, but nodded, and he carefully lifted the kettle and poured them both out a cup. “If I could, though, I’d pick flowers that I thought suited them – and _that_ would affect the flavour.” 

“So you didn’t just let the flowers grow wherever?” 

“Sometimes.” He handed her the cup and she took it carefully, holding it by the rim before cradling it in both hands; the heat seeped into his own palms, and he inhaled the fragrance and allowed it to calm whatever twitchy anxiety had developed since he’d left home. He didn’t regret it – he was getting nothing out of living in his garden all by himself, his family scattered to the four winds – but sometimes he would look out to the horizon and be reminded that the world was _huge_ , and he didn’t understand it at all. 

Tea helped, he found. Tea always helped. 

“Sometimes...?” 

“Ah, right. Sometimes I’d just let the flowers grow where they wanted to – the wind would carry the seeds and they’d end up somewhere they would thrive best. Sometimes I plotted out where they’d go, though. Didn’t want to control it too much, y’know? The Wildmother isn’t really about that.” 

“That is the second time you’ve mentioned her – I don’t know if I know that name.” 

“Melora,” Caduceus said, sipping at his tea. He hummed, nodding for Beau to try hers. She took a sip, pausing, before nodding and taking a deeper drink. “From what I understand, she is not an ‘approved’ god where you’re from.” 

“Right.” 

They sat there in silence for a moment; Caleb shuffling about with his pack, muttering under his breath in what sounded like a mixture of Common and Zemnian, Nott close by counting her crossbow bolts. The big one, Yasha, was at the edge of camp, right where the silver thread for Alarm was set up, and Caduceus wondered what she was thinking of. 

“So – what kind of flowers would you put on my grave?” 

Caduceus blinked, turning back to see Beau staring at her teacup, hunched up across from him. He wondered idly if she was cold; the cloak she wore didn’t really have sleeves, leaving her arms bare to the winter winds. 

He then sat back, really taking a look at her; slowly sipping his tea as he thought over what he knew about the monk. Honestly, he didn’t know too much; she was abrasive, and aggressive, stubborn and rude but actually seemed to care about people she thought of as ‘hers’. 

“...Amaryllis,” he said after a moment, head cocked as he considered her. “Maybe some bluebells, maybe some bearded crepis. Definitely some hepatica, those would be fitting.” 

“...I have no idea what any of those flowers are, and I’m not sure if you’re insulting me.” 

Caduceus merely smiled back at her and finished his tea, taking out a rag from his pack and slowly wiping the dregs out of his cup. Beau downed the rest of hers, then, holding the cup out to him, and he accepted it with a nod. 

“Thanks for the drink, Clay,” she said, standing up. He heard her back pop in a few places, wincing sympathetically before saluting her with one of his cups. 

“I’m always happy to share a cup of tea. Tea’s best shared.” 

Beau looked at him for a moment, pursing her lips, before shrugging noncommittally and moving towards the cart – likely to check on her friends, he thought. He watched her go, smile still curling his mouth, and turned back to putting his things away slowly. 

He looked forward to the road ahead.


	2. courage, maternal affection, true friendship, bravery

He was staring up at the clouds in the sky, trying to see if he could find any shapes, when he heard a rustle off to the side. 

Caduceus wasn’t particularly worried; the party had stopped again to give the recovering members of the Nein (and when they _finally_ explained the joke to him, he’d had a nice laugh) a moment to stretch their sore joints and relieve their bruises. Beau was sitting next to the half-orc, Fjord (Ford? Fee-yord?), seemingly instructing him on how to loosen tense muscles that were cramped for one reason or another; Caleb and the tall one, Yasha, were quietly talking. Yasha had a book open in her lap, fingers tracing over the pages, her expression distant. 

Jester, the other cleric and a positively _delightful_ young woman, was sat on the back of the cart, carefully writing down in a journal that Nott had given to her the moment she had a chance to do so. It was then that the firbolg noticed Nott wasn’t actually beside Jester, as she had been for the majority of their slow ride towards the Hills where Shit Went Sideways. 

(They were taking their time, none of them looking forward to reaching their destination. Beau was trying to keep them on some sort of schedule, saying that they really didn’t have that many days to waste, but Caduceus got the feeling she was just putting on a front – they all knew what they were going to find when they got there. He wasn’t going to be the one to kill their hope, but. Well. He knew.) 

He heard the rustle again and slowly blinked, glancing over to the side of the road. 

Just off the worn path, scurrying through the tall grass, Nott was carefully picking different flowers with a suspicious squint and quick fingers. She had a nice bundle going for her in the crook of her arm; some of the stems were almost as long as her whole torso and Caduceus smiled easily as he watched her. 

She paused in her picking, glancing over at him with wide yellow eyes, and jumped with a small ‘ahh!’ when she noticed him watching her. 

“What? What?” 

“Hmm?” 

“You’re staring at me! Why? Is there something on my face!?” She smacked her free hand against her cheek, currently free of the porcelain doll mask she was prone to wearing when out in public. Caduceus shook his head, though, and Nott dropped her hand. “Then why are you staring at me, Mr Clay?” 

“Just noticed your flowers – got a good bundle, there.” 

Nott blinked, staring down at her flowers. She took a few hesitant steps towards him, then, holding them close to her chest and tilting her head back to look up at him. He crouched down in a squat so she wouldn’t strain her neck.

“Are they good for tea? I know they’re not from dead people...” 

“Whole world’s a grave one way or another,” he said, smiling faintly. Nott gave him a perturbed look, and he shrugged a shoulder. It was true. “Let’s see what you’ve got there...” 

He tilted his head, and Nott adjusted her bundle so that he could see the blooms a little easier. He blinked at the variety she had managed to find in the field – he hadn’t realized there were so many flowers. 

“Where’d you find all’a these?”

“All over – I’ve been picking them as we’ve been travelling, when I go to scout ahead. Trying to find different kinds. Why? Are some of them bad? Are some _poisonous_? Oh gods, I’ve touched them, I’m going to die!” 

“Now, now, none of them are poisonous. S’just a whole bunch of different ones is all. Got some black poplar there... cinquefoil, that’s nice. Geranium, those’re pretty... and French willow. Now _that’s_ fittin’, I think.” 

“Fitting? What’s fitting? How?” 

“Yeah,” Caduceus nodded, reaching out to brush a finger along the edge of the flowers. Nott gave him a weird look, hugging the flowers a little closer to her chest, and he grinned. “Now who’re those for?” 

“...Jester. I’m gonna make her a flower crown. She told me once she likes them, and I... I want to do something to make her smile.” Nott shuffled her feet, taking a quick glance over to where Jester was now leaning against the side of the cart, fingers buried in the fur of a newly summoned Frumpkin. Caduceus wondered when Caleb asked his cat to visit the girl, and if the wizard knew he was totally showing his cards doing so. 

“Did you want some for tea?” 

“Hmm?” 

He looked back over to Nott, and she was watching him curiously; yellow eyes taking in everything about him. She was a lot smarter than she seemed, he realized slowly. Probably just as smart as Caleb, just in a different way. 

He decided he liked her. 

“That’d be real nice of ya, Nott,” he said after a moment. He slowly stood back to his full height, stretching his arms over his head. Nott gave him one last look, nodded, and disappeared back into the field – right back to looking for flowers with new vigour. 

He watched her for a second, before his eyes drifted back up to the clouds; thinking once more he was pretty happy with his decision to come with these people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Black poplar: Courage  
> Cinquefoil: Maternal affection  
> Geranium (oak leafed variety): True friendship  
> French Willow: Bravery and humanity


	3. gentility, zealousness, constancy, devotion and loyalty (sorrowful remembrance)

He was picking through a field of wild flowers, inspecting them to see if they would make a good brew, when he felt someone approach from behind him. 

He didn’t stiffen up or feel threatened, despite the fact that the woman who came up beside him was definitely a threatening one. Monochrome and quiet, she exuded strength and simmered with a frozen rage that made her eyes go empty when she let it. It was a little frightening, he’d admit. 

But he was used to people coming to him with empty eyes, for all sorts of reasons. One more wouldn’t unnerve him. 

Yasha crouched down next to him, reaching out and running her fingers over the flowers. Caduceus watched with a tilted head and a curious smile as she seemed to go through some sort of mental list before plucking one from the ground. 

“Corncockle, that’s nice.” 

She glanced at him, mismatched eyes wary, and he stared back at her with the same smile he’d started with. She was a bit of a wild animal, Yasha, easily startled and not great to have backed in a corner; you had to have patience. And over the seasons he had lived alone, Caduceus had nothing if not patience. 

“...it’s pretty,” she said after a moment, looking down at it. She then reached back, slowly taking out a book, and opened it to an empty page. She proceeded to press the flower between the pages; Caduceus watched, humming a little. 

“You like flowers?” 

Yasha shrugged a shoulder, nearly bird-like. She hesitated for a moment before slowly opening her book to a different page. Caduceus leaned forward to take a look at the flattened petals, nodding a bit. 

“Elderflower. Makes sense.” 

Yasha peeked at him quickly from the corner of her eye, flipping to another random page; as if she were testing him, now. His smile widened lazily, and he folded his arms over his knees as he crouched comfortably. 

“Blue hyacinth’s a good one for you.” 

Yasha frowned. Caduceus shifted on the balls of his feet and waited. She flipped to another page. 

“Alstroemeria – now that’s a colourful one. Suits you, but it kinda feels like it was originally someone else’s.” 

Yasha slammed the book shut, standing up quickly. Caduceus stood up after a moment, slowly and carefully; stretching out his back and wincing as it cracked. The barbarian stared up at the sky, jaw clenched tightly, and the firbolg didn’t say anything else as she seemed to work through something. 

He eyed an adonis pheasant’s eye, thinking that would probably be a good one for steeping, when Yasha breathed in, sudden and sharp, and he looked back over at her.

“He was my family.” 

Caduceus nodded and didn’t ask for clarification. 

“He sounds like a person who did a lot of good in the world.” 

Grip tightening on her book, Yasha gave a jerky nod and left the field, heading back to the cart and the others. Caduceus bent down and plucked a few different flowers and weeks, carefully pocketing them into a satchel he kept for such things, and made his way back as well. 

An idea took root in the back of his mind, and he only had maybe a half a day to ruminate on it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Corncockle: Gentility  
> Elderflower: Zealousness  
> Blue hyacinth: Constancy  
> Alstroemeria: Devotion, loyalty   
> Adonis (pheasant's eye): Sorrowful remembrance


	4. friendship, inspiration, play, lightness, spirituality (I will never forget you)

They were pushing sunset when they wheeled over a rock and the wagon wheel cracked. 

Caduceus rubbed at his mouth, eyeing the wheel as the others spoke, trying to figure out if the break was simple enough for Jester to use mending or if they would need to wait and see if they could flag down a passing cart for help. 

As it was, they would need to bed down anyway, as Jester had used multiple messages to talk to their Gentleman friend, along with someone named Kiri and a few to speak with her mother. 

He couldn't say he blamed her - talking to her seemed to give Jester some comfort, and no one could fault her for that. 

He looked up as said little blue tiefling came over to stand in front of him. The others were moving around, beginning to set up camp for the night. After a moment, Jester crouched in front of Caduceus with her hands folded over her knees, mouth pressed to the back of her hands.

"We're going to try and fix it in the morning."

"You don't sound happy about that."

Jester shrugged, plucking a wilted flower from her horn from when Nott had presented her flower crown gift. It had slowly fallen apart over the course of their travelling. 

"I wanted to get to Molly - Beau says we're getting close. But now we have to wait some more."

Caduceus hummed but didn't say anything. After another moment of silence, Jester dropped down onto the ground and pulled out a sketchbook from her bright pink satchel, setting it on her knees and rummaging for her inks. 

"You draw?" he asked after watching her a bit. Jester looked up, violet eyes wide before she grinned. 

"I do! I'm really, really good, too - wanna see?"

"That's be delightful."

She scooched over until she was sitting next to him, sketchbook open on her lap. He glanced down, smiling when he saw a picture of himself drinking a cup of tea with the steam in the shape of a skull. 

"Because you drink dead people!" 

"You have, too."

"True... they tasted really, really nice. Oh! And heere's one of Caaleb - You can tell 'cause I made him look stinky. He's a pretty good dancer, did you know?! We should go dancing soon, it's really fun! Are you any good at dancing? Oh! And heere's one of that stinkydoody _Lorenzo_. It felt really good to make him look dumb. See? His face is a _butt_!" 

She flipped through the sketchbook haphazardly; first showing him recent drawings and then some very old. Some were more serious portraits of their party; others silly caricatures of friends and enemies alike. Often there was a dick present. 

"And heere's--"

"Oh, those flowers are nice."

"Huh?" 

Caduceus tapped a page filled with realistic sketches and studies of flowers. 

"Oh! You like flowers, Caddy?" 

"Sure," he leaned in closer, looking over her shoulder. "Acacia... great bindweed... hyacinth, those make sense. Larkspur, too, that's fitting. Are those... What are those?"

"Cherry blossoms - mom had a tree in front of the house, it was super pretty." She paused, tapping the page, before she flipped to a page she had shown him quickly. 

A portrait of an effeminate tiefling sprawled there: grinning like he had a secret, looking almost posed. His shirt was stretched open and falling over one shoulder, showing off a tattoo with a riot of flowers. 

"That's Molly. I imagine he was what having a big brother would be like. He really liked flowers, too - see the tattoos? Anyway, I want to... to give him something. And you really seem to know flowers! So... can you help me find some?" 

Caduceus looked down at her, and she looked small and sad, and he pressed her shoulder with his hand in a semblance of a hug. 

"Thought I saw some pink carnations close by. I think those would be real nice."

"Oh, Molly really liked pink, good idea! C'mon, before it gets too dark. Oh! Nott! NOTT! Come pick flowers with Caddy and me, you can make a flower crown for Caleb so he smells nice!"

And then she was off, bright and bubbly again. Caduceus smiled and slowly got to his feet to follow after her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Acacia - friendship  
> Great bindweed - inspiration  
> Hyacinth - play  
> Larkspur - lightness  
> Cherry blossoms -spirituality  
> Pink carnations - "I will never forget you"


	5. beware, eager to please, charming, deceit, in memory of an absent friend

He volunteered to take watch that night with the half-orc, Fjord, mostly because he wanted to sort through his things. 

Life on the road, he had quickly learned, was a messy affair. More often than not they had to quickly pack up their camp, making it so that all of Caduceus' carefully packed herbs, spices and tea blends were in danger of mixing together - and that honestly would not do. 

So while the others bedded down and Fjord walked a circuit around the perimeter where Caleb's silver thread gleamed in the moonlight, Caduceus took out all of his things and got to work setting them right. Long ears twitched occasionally as he listened to the night sounds around them. 

He had just finished with the flowers Nott had brought him for tea when Fjord sat down heavily beside him; falchion disappearing in a splash of sea water and a flash of green light. Caduceus hummed in acknowledgement but didn't turn away from his work. 

The two sat companionably for a few minutes before Fjord shifted. Caduceus put down his cooking spices, looking over at Fjord expectantly. 

"Beau and Caleb said you lived in a graveyard?"

"Yeah," Caduceus smiled, folding his arms loosely over his knees, "yeah I did. Or do, I guess - it's still home. I'm just...leaving for a bit."

"Right," Fjord nodded, and Caduceus got the vague impression that the man was quick to agree with people. He cocked his head and waited to hear what he had to say. "Right, yeah - Beau was saying you made tea from the flowers on the graves?" Caduceus nodded. "She said you would plant them." 

"Sometimes," Caduceus corrected, turning back to his sorting, "if I thought I should. Or if it felt right." 

Silence fell again, Caduceus humming and Fjord fidgeting. The half-orc turned to him. 

"What would you put on mine?" 

Caduceus paused, tilting his head, before giving a low, thoughtful hum. 

"...Begonia. Ivy sprig - the kind with white tendrils. Rose musk clusters...dogsbane..." He turned to look at Fjord, smiling. "Mixed zinnia."

"...what do all those mean?"

"Just what I've seen so far." He turned back to his sorting once more. "Might change as time goes on."

"Right." Fjord swallowed; tapped his fingers against his knee - breathed out slowly. "...Thanks, Caduceus."

"Anytime."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Begonia: Beware  
> Ivy sprig with white tendrils: Eager to please  
> Rose musk clusters: Charming  
> Dogsbane: Deceit  
> Mixed Zinnia: Thinking/in memory of an absent friend


	6. ambitious, curiousity, despair and grief, remorse

He woke up early in the morning to the smell of incense and the soft muttering of the wizard, Caleb Widogast. 

Sitting up slowly, Caduceus turned to see a flash of light and flame; a plume of purple smoke drifting skyward as Frumpkin, the cat, stepped out of ashen sigils and leapt onto Caleb's shoulder with a _meow_ and a flick of his tail. The firbolg watched the human and his fey familiar for a moment before he got up and started to make breakfast. 

Neither said anything for some time; Caleb speaking quietly to his cat, Caduceus' digging through the communal packs for breakfast rations. Clay wondered where the other half of the last watch was - before he saw Nott curled up beside Caleb's hip, crossbow in hand and muttering in her sleep. 

He had porridge in a pot cooking and his tea kettle over a rune of heat boiling when he sat back on his haunches and took the moment to really look at his companion. 

He had noticed that the moment the others of their party had been reunited that Caleb, who had appeared to be the leader, took a step back and attempted to fade into the shadows. Where once he had been decisive and sure, now he looked to others to make the big calls - offering an opinion should he have anything to say. It was very different than the man who had promised to help him, near-feverish with determination. 

He wondered at it. 

"Is there something you would like to say, Caduceus?" 

Caduceus slowly blinked out of his musing, smiling languidly at Caleb; the human looking right at him. His eyes were very blue against a dirty face. He just then noticed the dead flowers in his hair. 

"...snowballs."

Caleb blinked, reaching up and carefully taking a crumbling bloom. "...these mean 'bound', in the language of flowers. Nott gave them to me - but I don't think she knew the meaning."

Caduceus hummed and added cut-up, dried apples in with a bit of cinnamon to the porridge. The sun slowly peeked over the hills, waking up the rest of the world; twilight contemplation almost gone. 

"...I have noticed you giving the others flowers that appear to suit them - but they do not know what you are saying. I admit, I am curious - what flowers would you choose for me, knowing that I will know?"

"Hollyhock," Caduceus said without missing a beat. Caleb hummed, and Caduceus took it as permission. "Sycamore, bramble. Marigold." 

It was quiet. The kettle started a sputtering whistle. Soon, the others would wake, and Caleb's candor would retreat within himself once more. 

"...Interesting. I would have chosen white poplar, birdsfoot trefoil, and mourning bride."

Caduceus' only reply was his slow, sleepy smile and a tilt of the head. 

"...which meaning for mourning bride?" 

The kettle whistled; Beau groaned. Fjord sat up with a stretch - down the road, Ophelia's camp got up as well to prepare for another day of travel. They would finally reach the hills where Shit went Sideways. 

Caleb's expression closed, and he did not answer. 

That was okay - Caduceus would learn eventually. 

He turned from the wizard, ready to greet the party and the new day with a smile and a good cup of tea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Snowball: Bound  
> Hollyhock: Ambitious  
> Sycamore: Curiousity  
> Marigold: Despair/Grief  
> Bramble: Remorse  
> White Poplar: Time  
> Birdsfoot Trefoil: Revenge  
> Mourning Bride: Unfortunate attachment, I have lost all

**Author's Note:**

> Amaryllis: Pride, Splendid Beauty  
> Bluebell: Constancy  
> Bearded Crepis: Protection  
> Hepatica: Confidence


End file.
